


softly, so as not to wake

by akaparalian



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Hades and Persephone Mythology Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 13:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17225282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian
Summary: "The very first time Keith sees him, he is kneeling in a field of wildflowers, his arms overflowing with a riot of colors; he bends to examine each flower individually, inhaling their scents and running gentle fingers over their petals, a soft smile on his face. Keith has no idea who he is, but he falls in love instantly." A Hades and Persephone AU.





	softly, so as not to wake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captainkaltar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainkaltar/gifts).



> Happy holidays, captainkaltar! I'm your Sheith Secret Santa. :)
> 
> Title from 'A Primer for the Small Weird Loves' by Richard Siken. All the flowers mentioned are poisonous in some form or fashion and native to somewhere in the Mediterranean or northern Africa (and thus might have theoretically found their way into the Underworld) -- though I'm no botanist, so it's possible I messed something up there, in which case please forgive me. :')

The very first time Keith sees him, he is kneeling in a field of wildflowers, his arms overflowing with a riot of colors; he bends to examine each flower individually, inhaling their scents and running gentle fingers over their petals, a soft smile on his face. Keith has no idea who he is, but he falls in love instantly.

He does not come to the surface often, except on the rare occasions when business takes him all the way to Olympus; by and large, the other gods prefer that he stays in the Underworld, and he cannot say that he entirely disagrees. His realm is dark and quiet, and most importantly, it is his — no one can challenge his authority there or bend him to their will, not even Zeus, though she’s tried on occasion. 

The surface, though, is a very different matter. Keith usually feels uneasy at the very least, especially on a bright, sunny spring day like this one. Hades dappled in sunbeams is a contradiction in terms as far as most of his peers — not to mention humans — are concerned, and his power isn’t quite so complete outside of his own realm. Which really comes as no surprise, as it’s that way for all the gods; Poseidon is not as powerful on a mountain as he is as the bottom of the sea, the bastard. Expecting it, though, doesn’t mean it makes him feel any less vulnerable. 

At the present moment, _that_ vulnerability is the farthest thing from his mind. He feels thunderstruck, bowled over, but it’s through no one’s influence but his own — well, and that of the beautiful man he’s all but stumbled into.

Maybe he should come to the surface more often after all, Keith thinks, overwhelmed.

The man doesn’t seem to have noticed him, which makes sense, because Keith tends to keep to the shadows unless he _wants_ to be seen. His eyes are the softest, warmest shade of gray, and his white forelock is falling into them, and his arms — his arms are so _strong_ , Keith can tell even through his loose-fitting clothing. There is a scar across his nose that crinkles when he smiles. Yes. Keith knew it was true: just like that, he’s in love. He can _feel_ the other man in the air, a warm, strong, steady sort of aura, tinged with a hint of playfulness, like a sweet-sour twist on a hearty flavor — like a fruit with a very sturdy rind. Keith can’t speak to flowers, but he can feel the earth, and all at once he is certain that of all its riches, this man is the greatest, more precious than any metal or shining stone.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, loud enough that the man startles and looks over in his direction, toward the shadows between the trees where Keith is hiding. It doesn’t matter; by the time his attention is where Keith had been standing, between one heartbeat and the next, Keith is gone. 

—

It’s not hard to find out who his stranger is: Persephone. A fruit with a sturdy rind; a torch; a field of flowers and a field of grain. Keith doesn’t know his _name_ — that information is never so readily given among their kind — but just the brief description he’s able to give is enough that Apollo says, “Oh, yes, I know him. Why do you ask?”

“I just — saw him. And I was curious,” Keith says a little lamely, and Matt snorts at him. Maybe it’s a little ironic, the god of the sun and the god of death and darkness, but he has always gotten on better with Matt than with many of their peers, and Matt has never seemed to mind visiting the Underworld half as much as most do. Maybe it’s that he brings light and warmth with him wherever he goes; maybe it’s just that he doesn’t distrust Keith the way the others do, for whatever reason. Sometimes he brings his sister, but she’s on a hunt right now, which is fine by Keith. He isn’t quite sure he wants her around for this conversation.

“You _just saw him_ ,” Matt says. “Right. Because you spend so much time up there, in the places he haunts.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying,” Keith snaps back a little sharply.

“Oh, would you relax? I’m not implying anything, other than that you’re not as subtle as you seem to think you are.”

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Matt grins. “I’m not even close to being as good at this as Aphrodite, and even _I_ can smell it on you.”

“I didn’t call you here to have this conversation with you,” Keith says stiffly, turning away from him. Matt just rolls his eyes.

“No, you called me here because you fell in love with a man who you couldn’t even place, and rather than trying to introduce yourself, you thought that since I actually _talk_ to people without being forced to, I could help you out.”

Keith doesn’t have anything to say to that, because, well… strictly speaking, that is an accurate description, yes.

They stand together in silence for a moment, looking out over Keith’s domain, before Matt shakes his head, laughs a little, and claps Keith on the shoulder. When Keith looks over at him, his expression is exasperated, but fond.

“I was mocking you a bit,” he admits. “But now I almost feel bad about it.”

Keith snorts, but doesn’t answer.

—

 _Finding_ Persephone is not difficult. And it sounds more unsettling, even in Keith’s own head, than he thinks it really is. He’s not... he has no interest in skulking through the night and abducting the man under cover of darkness. He just wants to see him again, to be certain — really certain — that he was not somehow mistaken before, that this is real, and that it is worth it to risk making himself vulnerable. He just wants to _see_. And seeing is well within his purview.

Keith has power over the dead, of course, but that is not the limit of it; he holds sway over a great many other things besides, when he chooses to. Among these is dreams. He usually leaves them alone; there is a power in dreams which is wholly different from anything else he knows, and more dangerous by half. 

But it’s better — easier, safer, more discreet — than going up to the surface again. Better, to be sure, than finding Persephone in person. Keith thinks, as he settles himself in and breathes deeply in preparation, that seeing him again in person might be the last bit of his undoing. This is… a stopgap. A protective measure, for both of them. Because if just a few stolen seconds of watching him in that meadow had been enough to send Keith tumbling headfirst into a love deeper and stronger than anything he’s ever known was _possible_ , then actually _talking_ to Persephone is a terrifying concept that he’s not yet ready to face.

So, instead, he settles himself down in a quiet corner of the Underworld, with silvery grasses swaying around him, and closes his eyes, and reaches out.

He can’t explain how he even knows to try this now, knows that Persephone is dreaming, other than that he just _knows_. He feels it in his chest when he looks for it, and finding the object of his interest is easy. Falling into Persephone’s dreams is like blinking: one moment he isn’t, and in the next, he is. Dreams are strange, and yet familiar, and above all else, they are inescapably unreal. Even for a god, stepping into a dreamscape — especially one that’s not his own, that belongs to someone who is still technically a perfect stranger — is a discomfiting experience, a swirl of confused colors and shapes that only vaguely approximates reality. Keith can only imagine what it must be like for humans.

Persephone himself is unmistakable; Keith sees him right away. Obviously, it’s his dream, so it makes sense that he would be focal. He looks slightly different than Keith remembers him from that meadow, blurred around the edges, his features slightly indistinct. Is that how he sees himself, Keith wonders: hazy, not quite in focus? Regardless, he doesn’t seem to have noticed that he’s not alone; few do. Keith isn’t intentionally hiding himself — that feels somehow invasive to him in a way that he’s trying to convince himself the rest of this is _not_ invasive — but dreams are strange, and inexplicable, and usually without any kind of logic, which explains how Keith is able to walk straight over to Persephone, as much as one _can_ walk in a dream, and stare his fill without Persephone noticing him at all.

Blurred around the edges, yes, but the way Keith’s heart clenches at the sight of him is just the same as before, and can only mean one thing. Keith wasn’t mistaken, though the depth and breadth of the emotions blooming in his chest is new and wholly unknown to him. In the space of a moment, he is completely certain.

He looks around, his heart beating too fast in his chest even though he isn’t, technically speaking, inhabiting a body with a heartbeat at the moment. Their surroundings, now that he’s taking a second to notice them rather than just staring at Persephone, are shifting almost constantly, flowing smoothly from one setting to another: an open pavilion he vaguely recognizes as Demeter’s, a field of late-summer wheat, a thicket in a forest where a herd of deer are grazing peacefully. It’s easy to get distracted; each landscape is pastoral, beautiful, _warm_ in a way that Keith doesn’t have access to, usually, a way that is unique to the surface and the sun and far from anything that he has in the Underworld, much as he loves his domain. It’s like all the benefits of going up to the surface, all the beautiful, living things he doesn’t usually get to see, without the parts of being out of the Underworld that he hates. Parts such as, for example, the other gods — except, he supposes, for Persephone, who —

Is staring right at him.

Keith startles, violently, and opens his mouth to say something, but then before he gets the chance, Persephone’s eyes narrow and his face gets stormy, and he says, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Oh, heavens and hells. His voice is entrancing, evan laced with anger, deep and rich and commanding — this is absolutely not the moment for it, but Keith feels it jolt through him. His mouth parts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he tries to think of something to say, anything to explain why he’s here, that he knows he should have done it differently but that his intentions are good.

He doesn’t get the chance, though, because another voice booms from behind him. “I don’t believe that you decide where I should and shouldn’t go.”

He knows that voice. Even before Keith spins around, fists clenching, teeth gritted, he knows exactly what — who — he will find, and he doesn’t know _how_ , but sure enough, there’s Sendak. Ares has always been unequivocally one of his least favorite among the gods; Keith has a list of complaints against him that starts with his personality and includes the number of souls he sends senselessly to their deaths every year who then become Keith’s responsibility. The list does not ever actually end. But the anger that sparks in his chest now is far from typical — far above even his baseline level of distaste for the god of war, which is quite high — because when he turns around and looks, Sendak is looking at Persephone in a way that makes his skin crawl.

This is wrong. This is very, very wrong, but neither of them seem to know he’s here — they’re staring _right_ through him — and wrong as it is, Keith has no idea how to fix it.

“You’re in my _head_ ,” Persephone shoots back, his eyes blazing fire, and Keith feels an immediate rush of guilt at the scorn in his voice. He’s no better than Sendak in that regard, after all; Persephone would look at him that way, too, if he knew, if Keith wasn’t obscured from his sight for whatever unkowable reason. “I believe I get some say. And I have told you before that I want nothing to do with you.”

Keith thinks this is more or less how everyone should feel about Ares. Sendak, of course, does not look pleased. 

"It astonishes me," Sendak says, in a voice so cold and so obviously dangerous that Keith freezes up, head to toe, just from hearing it, every part of him thrumming with the sudden awareness of a knife at his back, "that you continue to think that what you want matters, Persephone."

"Leave me _alone_ ," Persephone growls, shifting his stance — he's visibly defensive, but not backing down, his body coiled to spring into action as soon as he needs to, as soon as the threat becomes explicit and real. Keith's heart beats faster in his chest — his real heart, he realizes suddenly, in his real chest. The dream is slipping away, but whether it's fading just for him or for everyone is a mystery. It doesn't feel like Persephone is waking up, but waking up is not the only end to dreams, and Keith knows, in the deepest part of himself, that he cannot leave the two of them alone. No matter how strong Persephone looks, no matter how brave and unbreakable he seems to be, Ares is not to be trifled with, and _he_ looks, when Keith whips around to stare at him, so viscerally violent that the threat he presents is quite clear.

"I need a champion, Persephone," Sendak replies. He takes a step closer, and Persephone shifts back in response, not running away, but maintaining the distance between them — but Sendak just steps forward again, passing directly through Keith without seeming to notice him at all. "I need a champion, and I will have you."

"I am _not_ your champion — I want nothing to do with you, and you will have nothing to do with me!"

But Sendak just laughs, the sound cruel and delighted. "Ah," he says. "Didn't your mother ever teach you about how dangerous it is to let another god into your dreams?"

In the Underworld, Keith's eyes snap open.

He jackknifes up into a sitting position in the perpetual semidark of his realm, his chest heaving. Burned into his vision is the last glimpse he'd gotten of Persephone's face: still strong, still defiant, but with an undercurrent of realization and true fear that makes Keith's blood run cold. Persephone seems to have read something specific into what Sendak had said, and while Keith has no idea what it might have been, he is certainly more than familiar with many of the horrible things that can happen when someone has control of your dreams.

Persephone may not know him, and may not be in the mood to trust strangers, but Keith cannot ignore what he just saw. He won't be able to breathe until he's seen that Persephone is safe, and he has a feeling in his gut that seeing Persephone safe might mean gutting Ares, something he's certainly not opposed to doing. Maybe it will not happen tonight, maybe Sendak will choose to wait, but on the other hand... the way Ares had looked at him had been unmistakeable. Keith couldn't read all the details in it, but he knows what he saw.

He knows that entering Persephone's dream without asking — without ever having even _met_ him — was a betrayal of privacy, a denial of trust before there would have even been a chance for trust to grow between them. But he's going to have to violate that trust again, because he doesn't trust Sendak not to be making some kind of move right at this very moment, not with the glint he'd had in his eyes and the shivering-cruel timbre of his voice.

Keith closes his eyes again and concentrates very, very hard on the last traces of Persephone's dream, the lingering residue of it in his mind's eye. He remembers what it felt like — what Persephone's _presence_ had felt like — and between heartbeats, he disappears.

—

He arrives to the sound of a struggle; the first thing to pierce through the confusion and disorientation that always comes from travelling through the shadows is a shout of outrage, in a voice that he thinks he recognizes as Persephone’s. It’s met by an answering roar that he _knows_ to be Sendak, and when Keith blinks the last traces of shadows from his eyes, he finds himself spinning around to face the sounds of the fight, his hand automatically going for the small blade he keeps at his back.

He’s just outside a small house — nothing spectacular in size or stature, but situated nicely amidst gardens overflowing with blooms that perfume the evening air almost with an sickly sweetness — and, inside, he can see motion in the shadows created by the flickering of torchlight that tells him where the struggle must be. Sure enough, when he shoves his way through the door, there is Persephone, struggling barefisted against Sendak, who himself is gripping a wickedly curved blade that glints in the low light.

It takes Keith a shocked moment to realize that Persephone, though he bears no weapon, is not precisely unarmed; as Keith stands and watches, hovering in the doorway, he parries a strong blow from Sendak with his naked hand, and the clang of metal against metal is unmistakable. Sure enough, when he looks for it, Keith can now see the way his arm reflects the torchlight just as surely as Sendak’s blade; he only wonders that he had not noticed it before. 

But there are more pressing concerns. Keith hesitates only a moment more before rushing to Persephone’s side, drawing his own blade with a shout of warning that Sendak can’t hope to misinterpret. Sure enough, Sendak takes a step back almost despite himself at the sudden and shocking interruption, even as Persephone, too, spins around, dropping his guard for just a moment as he stares at Keith with his mouth hanging open.

“Hades?” he asks, shocked. Keith isn’t caught off guard at being recognized; he might not have known Persephone at first glance, but he’s well aware that his own station makes him hard to mistake among their kind; his reputation tends to precede him. Besides which, the long black robes and the glittering purple-black metal of his sword are distinctive enough.

“Come with me,” Keith tells him urgently, hesitating to grab him by the sleeve for fear of seeming like just another version of Ares, boorish and demanding. “It’s not safe here, but he can’t follow into the Underworld, not if I don’t want him to.”

This isn’t precisely true — it will take a concerted effort to truly stop Ares from so much as _appearing_ in the Underworld — but he would certainly be sufficiently weak there that Keith would have no difficulty at all fending him off, even without Persephone’s help, and Persephone seems to be quite an adept warrior if he’s fended off Ares single-handedly for even this long. Once again Keith wonders exactly what Ares had meant by saying he wanted Persephone for his champion, but he tries to put it out of his mind for now; there are more important things.

Persephone hesitates, clearly still baffled and more than a little suspicious about this turn of events, which Keith supposes is entirely fair. After all, he’s only here because he’d peeked in on Persephone’s dreams without his permission, which in a way _does_ make him into just another Ares. Keith bites his lip, even as he keeps an eye on Sendak, and tries to puzzle out what to say to Persephone to convince him that his motives are genuine.

“Please,” he eventually tries. “I’m sure Ares would tell you himself that I’ve never been any friend of his. I don’t wish you any harm.”

There’s another moment where Persephone hovers, indecisive, but then Sendak makes to start towards them again, his blade arcing down, and even as Persephone dodges out of the way he catches Keith’s eye and nods. 

Keith reaches out as gently as he can manage to grab him by the wrist, and then it’s a matter of instinct to pull them both into the shadows and away, as easy as breathing. Just as always, though, there _is_ a moment of disorientation, even for him, and by the time he’s finished blinking and shaking himself out of the odd swooping sensation, looking around at the familiar silver-gray fields of the Underworld, Persephone, beside him, is still doubled over, with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry,” Keith all but blurts, reaching out to pat him on the back bracingly. “I know my methods of travel can be a little…”

“Unsettling?” Persephone manages, his tone dry, but after just a moment more he straightens up, eyeing Keith more than a bit warily. “Thank you for your assistance. I think.”

Keith holds up his hands in a sign of peace — after, of course, carefully sheathing his blade away. “I truly do not mean you any harm,” he says, struggling to find the words to explain himself without just repeating his good intentions over and over again. “I…”

He trails off, uncertain how to continue, and looks away, gazing out across the fields. In his peripheral vision, Persephone hesitates for a moment, then crosses his arms, turning to face out onto the fields where Keith is looking.

“I believe you,” he says, and Keith feels his shoulders slump in relief at the words. “At least, I think I do. So far you’ve given me no reason to doubt you. But I have questions, too. How did you know to intervene? How do you know who I _am?”_

Well, Keith supposes it was always silly of him to hope that he could avoid those sorts of questions for very long. He winces a little, looks very determinedly out over the horizon — or, rather, where the horizon _would_ be, if the fields of the Underworld had a proper horizon — and lets out a frustrated little sigh through his nose, knowing full well that he’s gotten himself into this mess by not just being up-front in the first place, and choosing to skulk around in the shadows instead. He can practically hear Apollo and Artemis lecturing him about it already.

“I saw you some days ago, picking wildflowers in a field near the base of Olympus,” he says at length, and feels more than sees the way Persephone’s gaze shifts to him, his cheeks heating under the attention. “I was — taken with you. I asked Apollo who you were, and he said he knew you.”

It’s a paltry description at best of events which feel like they have rocked Keith to his very core, but he’s not about to come out and actually _say_ that he fell in love with Persephone at first sight, especially not when the man already seems quite suspicious and uncertain about him, and rightfully so. 

“Apollo and I have known each other for years,” Persephone says, and something about his voice seems to have warmed a little. “I consider him one of my oldest friends.” There’s a pause, and though he still refuses to look over, Keith can almost hear the frown in his voice when he adds, “I thought I sensed someone there that day, but I couldn’t see you. If you were so taken by me, why did you hide?”

A half-dozen excuses flit through Keith’s mind in the space of an instant, but none of them are worth anything. They’re paltry, and regardless, he doesn’t want to lie to Persephone. The very idea makes him squirm. The truth is uncomfortable, but the truth usually is, and he knows he has to make up for his secrecy thus far by telling the truth now that he has the chance if he is to have any hope of building a relationship with the beautiful man beside him.

So, though he’s not exactly excited by the notion, he takes a deep breath and admits, “I was afraid.”

“Afraid of me?” Persephone responds, sounding skeptical, and Keith laughs a little despite himself.

“In a way.” 

“I find that hard to believe, Lord Hades,” Persephone replies archly, and Keith can’t help but snort at his tone.

“Regardless of whether or not you believe it, it _is_ the truth,” he shoots back. “I have never seen anyone half as beautiful as you, and I so rarely leave the Underworld that I wasn’t at all prepared. I had no idea how to react. Of course I was afraid. I had no idea what to say to you, how to approach you, so I didn’t.”

Persephone sucks in a sudden, harsh intake of breath at the word _beautiful_ , and sounds a bit suspicious when he presses, “And then you asked Apollo who I was?”

“I’m sure he’d be happy to confirm that for you if you like,” Keith replies, sighing a little. “Probably in a way that makes me look even more ridiculous than I already feel.”

“That does sound like him,” Persephone replies, laughing quietly. “I’ve been on the receiving end of that treatment more than a few times myself.” He falls quiet for a moment, and they simply stand there, shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the gently waving fields. But then he adds, a little more quietly, “But that still doesn’t explain why you were there tonight.”

At this, Keith hesitates, wincing, because this, he knows, is the far more damning part. He finally turns to look Persephone in the eyes, knowing that he cannot be cowardly about this at all if he wants to maintain any respect Persephone might have for him.

“I was visiting your dream,” he admits, and he sees the way Persephone’s eyes immediately steel over at the admission. He has to hold himself back from rushing to explain or provide excuses, instead trying to rein himself in and keep his voice as steady as possible. “Dreams are a lesser-known area of my domain. And I wanted to… be sure I was right about you. I only wanted to _see_. But I happened to see not just you but Ares as well, and I heard what he said to you, and I knew I had to help if I could.”

“You were inside my head,” Persephone says coldly. It isn’t a question, but Keith nods slowly anyway.

“Yes. And I know that it is wrong — I knew even at the time that it was wrong, to do that and not even let you know that I was there, having never so much as met you properly,” he says, hearing his voice waver just a little on the admission, but maintaining eye contact the whole time. “I know it may not mean much to you, but I am sorry. I was desperate to know more about you, and it seemed the fastest, safest way. Besides, I didn’t know where to find you; I was hoping the dream might tell me, and it did, in the end.”

“Apollo could have told you just as easily. Or any number of others.” Persephone is frowning, and his voice is still a bit cold, but Keith notes with a sudden jump of hope and no small amount of shock that there does seem to be something considering in his eyes.

“Yes,” Keith agrees, dipping his head a little and fidgeting slightly with his robes, still decidedly uncomfortable. “But as I said, I was afraid and uncertain, and I — I suppose I just wanted to see you.”

“All before I had ever seen _you_ ,” Persephone says quietly. He pauses a moment, still meeting Keith’s eyes, then drops his gaze, looking out over the silvery fields again. 

“Still,” he says. “I can’t argue that you saved me tonight. Ares caught me by surprise, and at night, and unarmed, and he’s certainly more than a match for me in those conditions. I don’t like to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t come along.” He pauses again. “Thank you, Lord Hades.”

“You don’t have to call me that,” Keith blurts, his heart rabbiting in his chest and feeling fit to burst at Persephone’s soft tone.

Persephone looks up at him again, amusement plain on his features. Keith is so relieved to see his face so light that he almost misses what he actually says. “Then what should I call you?”

“My name is Keith,” is all Keith can manage. It’s beyond scandalous to give Persephone his name after so short an acquaintance, but he can’t bring himself to regret it, or even find it odd. 

“Keith,” Persephone repeats, and Keith shivers to hear that voice speak his name. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Shiro.”

Keith can’t help the small gasp that escapes him. Even if he feels secure in having given Persephone _his_ name, he certainly didn’t do so with any expectation or even hope that Persephone — _Shiro_ — would do the same. He’s still choking on thin air when Shiro extends a hand to him in greeting, and he only reaches out to grasp it on autopilot.

“The pleasure is all mine, Shiro,” he manages, and the smile he gets in return takes the last of his breath away.

They linger like that, hands clasped together, gazes locked, Shiro smiling beautifully and Keith no doubt gaping like a fish, for several shivering moment, and then slowly, so slowly, they begin to disentangle themselves, putting a little bit of distance back between them. Quiet lapses between them once again, and Keith looks at Shiro until he _has_ to look away, the clenching feeling in his chest at the soft expression on Shiro’s face finally growing strong enough to force his eyes down to the ground.

“You know,” Shiro says after a moment, and Keith is powerless but to look up again; Shiro is gazing out around them at the Underworld as it sprawls away into the distance in all directions, his expression thoughtful and considering. “I have certainly never seen it before myself, but the Underworld is much more beautiful than I was lead to believe.”

If possible, Keith feels himself fall even more in love.

“Most would disagree,” he says, unable to keep a delighted fondness out of his voice. “But I’ve always loved it, myself. It’s peaceful here, and I try to make it comfortable for all those who are sent to me.”

“It must be lonely,” Shiro says softly. “Just you and the dead.”

Keith pauses a moment. He’s heard the sentiment before; Artemis, in her own almost cuttingly insightful way, had once said something similar, but coming from Shiro it feels different. Pidge hadn’t meant it cruelly, of course, but it had nevertheless stung a little coming from her, if not from cruelty then from a sense of pity. Shiro, though, sounds sympathetic, but not pitying, and certainly not cruel. In fact, maybe _empathetic_ is an even more accurate term; he sounds as though he understands. It’s at odds with the smiling man Keith had first laid eyes on in that field of wildflowers, but it only makes his heart beat that much quicker, his cheeks that much warmer. 

“It is, at times,” he admits very quietly, a far different answer than the one he’d given Pidge ( _not with you and your brother constantly buzzing around)_. “I have friends — Apollo visits often — but none of them really understand. Most still think the work I do is strange, or unsettling.”

“I won’t pretend I’m not a bit unsettled by the concept, but it really is peaceful here,” Shiro says. “I expected it to be… I don’t know. Colder, damper.”

“Tartarus certainly fits that description,” Keith says. “But Tartarus holds only the darkest of souls for a reason. Almost everyone deserves a better afterlife than that, at least.”

There’s another pause, and when Keith looks over, it’s to see that Shiro is now examining him, rather than their surroundings. 

“You’re not what I expected either, Lord Hades,” he says after a moment.

“Keith,” Keith corrects him.

Shiro smiles softly down at him, nodding. “Keith.”

—

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, of course,” Keith says, as he shows Shiro into the nicest of the guest suites in his palace. The palace, he knows, is a fair bit smaller than those of most of his compatriots, but he doesn’t need a sprawling or ornate mansion, not for himself alone. He has servants, of course — shades — and they have rooms of their own, but there aren’t so many of them, and besides their quarters and his own there are only common areas, kitchens, gardens, and a few suites kept for visitors whenever he has any. These are somewhat more opulent than the rest of the palace, which is in a more austere style and mostly owes its grandeur to the fact that it is constructed mostly of deepest black marble, shot through with gold.

“Thank you,” Shiro says, looking around at the room with slightly wide eyes. It is, Keith supposes, quite a bit more lavish than his own dwelling, at least based on the quick, torch-lit glance Keith had gotten in between shouting at Sendak and getting them both out of there. Still, he can’t bring himself to house Shiro in anything but the nicest of his guest rooms — anything, that is, except for his _own_ rooms, but he keeps that thought very close to the chest for now. 

It is late — at least, in the surface world, it is late; the Underworld doesn’t truly experience night and day, but Keith tries to keep himself to surface time for convenience’s sake, and Shiro, certainly, is tired. Sendak had woken him from dreaming, after all. In fact, it’s very nearly the small hours of the morning, but Shiro says he will try and get some more sleep, regardless, and Keith takes his leave to try and get some rest himself.

He sleeps fitfully, as though his body is all too attuned to Shiro’s presence not so very far from his own and loathe to settle down without him. It is still very early — dawn will barely be breaking on the surface — when he wanders out to the gardens where he often takes his breakfast and finds Shiro already there.

It seems so very _right_ , to see him among the nightshade and the pomegranate trees, their limbs bowing heavy with fruit, that for a moment Keith’s heart almost seems to stop; he hesitates for just a moment in the doorway, not quite stepping into the garden, and just watches. Then he blinks, shakes himself, and clears his throat to make himself known, stepping out to wind through the plants to where Shiro stands.

“Good morning,” he says quietly, and gets a smile in return.

“Good morning,” Shiro echoes. “I take it you didn’t find sleep too easily, either?”

“No,” Keith admits, with a little twist of humor. “I’m sorry to hear that you didn’t, though.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve slept someplace so unfamiliar,” Shiro admits, then adds a bit more quietly, “And having been woken from dreams by Sendak once previously in the night certainly didn’t help, either.”

Keith winces a little at the thought, then frowns, taking a half-step closer until he is just inside the bubble of Shiro’s space, close enough that hopefully his protective intent is clear without coming across as threatening or uncomfortable. “I promise you, I was telling the truth when I said you would be safe here,” he says, a little fiercely. “Sendak is no match for me in my own domain. Even Zeus isn’t. No one can hurt you here.”

“Except you,” Shiro points out, and Keith feels himself pale instantly; he’s stuttering through an attempt to promise that he would never do any such thing, his heart sinking at the thought that such an idea had even crossed Shiro’s mind, when Shiro cuts him off with a laugh and a wave of his hand. “No, no; I’m sorry, I suppose I meant it more as a joke than anything. You’ve shown so far that you have no intent to hurt me, Keith, just perhaps an intent to lurk at the edges of rooms I’m standing in. I wouldn’t still be here if I thought you wished me harm; you aren’t exactly holding me captive.”

It’s a good point, and it soothes Keith, though the comment about lurking at the edges of rooms does make him flush a little, no matter how well-deserved it is. 

“Certainly not,” he says, and then gestures out in the general direction of the front gates, though the Underworld extends around the palace in all directions, not any particular. “You can go wherever you like, of course, though I’d advise staying well away from Tartarus. It’s both unpleasant and dangerous; you’ll know when you’re getting close, believe me, so it shouldn’t be hard to avoid.”

“Oh, you have nothing to worry about there,” Shiro says with a little bit of a shudder. “It doesn’t sound like a place much worth visiting. Not like these gardens.”

“I like to take my meals here,” Keith says, reaching out to gently run his fingers over the leaves of a pomegranate tree. “It’s the most peaceful place in the Underworld, if you ask me.”

Shiro looks at him almost from the corner of his eye, still turned mostly to face the plants, and hums a little note of assent. “I knew you had good taste,” he says, a bit slyly, and Keith feels his face heat even though he’s not quite sure he takes Shiro’s meaning.

They do, eventually, have breakfast together — bread and honey and cheese and wine, all of which are brought from the surface; the fruits of the Underworld are not good for eating, at least not for living beings, even gods — but then Keith must leave the palace to go about his duties, and leaves Shiro there for the day, with assurances that he will return in time for them to share dinner together as well. By dinnertime, it’s clear that Shiro has met and at least attempted to befriend several of the palace shades, who, while no longer quite fully human, nevertheless whisper excitedly to Keith when he returns about how much they like the new visitor.

And so they fall easily into a rhythm which lasts them nearly a week with no interruption; during the days, when Keith is out attending to his duties and his realm, Shiro seems to enjoy taking to the library, which is quite extensive and not used as often as Keith would perhaps like, or else sitting out in the gardens. His own powers are obvious here: even Underworld plants become a riot of blossoms beneath his touch, and within days the gardens are more full and lush than Keith has ever seen them. 

Still, this only makes Keith more guiltily aware, if anything, that Shiro cannot remain in the Underworld forever; he belongs on the surface, among growing things, and anyway he has his own duties to attend to, all tied up in Demeter’s work. 

It’s a full week to the day since their encounter with Sendak — their first proper meeting — when Keith says, at breakfast, “You know you’re welcome here for as long as you would like, but — well, I suppose I was wondering if you were planning to return to the surface, or stay here for longer, or…”

Shiro frowns a little, hesitating. “I suppose I should go back,” he begins, and Keith can’t help but interrupt.

“Not on my account,” he says hurriedly, and Shiro’s expression transforms like sun bursting through the clouds, a smile and a warm little laugh and a shake of his head as his eyes crinkle at the corners. 

“Of course not,” Shiro reassures him, still smiling. “But on my _own_ account, surely. Still, it’s so peaceful here, and I can’t deny that it’s been lovely not to have to worry about Sendak bothering me.” He hesitates a moment, than adds in a softer tone, “Besides which, I’ll miss your company when I have to go.”

“You’re always welcome to visit,” Keith responds, his heart pounding. He’s honestly more than a little shocked that he managed to get that out without stumbling over his words; Shiro is a vision sitting across from him at the other end of the table, draped in the loose robes he seems to favor and with little sprigs of oleander tucked behind his ears. Keith, in his own plain, dark robes, with his hair roughly scraped back in a plait, feels certainly inadequate by comparison, but then there’s no way he could ever hope to compare to someone like Shiro, and he’s not especially interested in trying.

Shiro smiles at him, though, soft and a little tentative around the edges; he bites his lip for a moment and opens his mouth as though to reply. Before he gets a chance, though, he’s interrupted by a voice that says, “Oh, I _knew_ you two would be adorable.”

“Apollo,” Keith says flatly, raising an eyebrow and frowning a little at the sudden introduction. Shiro, too, looks almost disappointed, leaning back in his seat, though he shoots a little smile of greeting in Matt’s direction all the same.

“Good morning, boys,” Matt says, settling himself down at the table as though he’d been invited to breakfast, grabbing a fig with something of a grim expression on his face which doesn’t seem to have any impact on the relish with which he attacks the food. “I’ve got bad news.”

Across the table, Shiro immediately goes pale, and Keith feels his own shoulders tense. Matt, meanwhile, munches on his fig, though he does still look rather serious.

“What is it?” Shiro asks, with a certain urgency and also with a low undercurrent of worry that makes Keith’s stomach clench and has him almost reaching for his sword protectively. Both of them, clearly, are thinking of Ares. Really, Keith supposes it ought to come as a surprise that they haven’t already faced some sort of retribution for what had happened on that night a week ago; it must have been obvious where they were going, and given that Shiro has stayed down here rather than going back to the surface, Sendak can only have assumed that he was still with Keith.

“Well,” Matt says, mouth full of fruit; he swallows, wipes his mouth with his sleeve, and then continues. “The short version is, Sendak has been telling everyone that _you —”_ He points at Keith with an accusing finger, and Keith glares at him in response. “— kidnapped _you —”_ He points now at Shiro, who has a look of dawning horror and guilt on his face. “— for some sort of nefarious purpose, and we should all band together and storm the Underworld before something terrible happens. He’s just been to Olympus and given a great speech before Zeus. Quite the playactor, our Ares.”

“And he would have them leave me in _his_ care, no doubt,” Shiro says coldly. Matt shrugs one shoulder in acquiescence. 

“It would certainly make him out to be the hero, and make you out to be in Sendak’s debt, if what he said were decided to be true,” he acknowledges, and Keith growls wordlessly.

“That’s ridiculous!” he argues. “I know I’m not well-loved on Olympus, but surely they know better than to trust _Ares_ at his word.”

“Well, that’s the good news,” Matt says, with a little bit of forced cheer in his tone. “They seem to, mostly. For now. The long version of the story is that he’s saying he went to pay a call on Persephone and found his house torn apart, signs of a struggle, but no signs of the man himself. People are — for now — saying that that sounds a little too convenient, because what business does Ares have paying Persephone a visit in the first place? And there’s no direct proof of your involvement yet anyway, Hades.”

“But there will be if they come to investigate and find Shiro here,” Keith says with dawning horror, looking across the table. Shiro seems to have come to the conclusion at the same time; his brows are furrowed.

Matt raises an eyebrow at Keith’s use of Shiro’s name, but says nothing about it, only nodding his head at the rest of Keith’s words and adding, “Yes, so if you’d like my advice, I think it may be time to say goodbye for now.”

“No, this whole thing is ridiculous,” Shiro says, tone firm and a little harsh. “I’m not going to just let them force me back to the surface. I’ve enjoyed my time here; Keith has been nothing but wonderful to me —” Matt’s other eyebrow goes up at the use of Keith’s name “— and what, people are going to suspect that he kidnapped me if they find me down here just because _Sendak_ said so, and because they’re afraid of the dark? I can easily tell them what _really_ happened! We both can!”

“They may not take my word for it,” Keith says grimly. “And yours may be tainted by association.” He hesitates a moment, then adds in a softer tone, “I’m sorry, Shiro. I think I may only have made the mess with Ares worse.”

“No,” Shiro counters immediately, shaking his head, his eyes almost unbearably fond and a little distress as he stares at Keith from across the table. “No, you saved me, that much is certain. There’s no way I would have gotten out of there on my own. Any further mess is only Ares’ fault, not yours.”

“Besides,” Matt says in a very reasonable tone, and they both jump a little, having almost forgotten he was with them. “The Underworld is really quite nice, and I’m sure Shiro hasn’t minded a little vacation from the fields and flowers up above, right?”

“Oh, certainly,” Shiro agrees, shooting Keith a slightly lopsided smile. “Your hospitality has been incredible, Lord Hades.”

His voice is a little teasing on the use of Keith’s formal title, which is actually the part that comes closest to doing Keith in. He feels the flush of heat high on his cheekbones, and decides to do his best to studiously ignore it, in no small part because they have far more important things to be worrying about at the moment than Keith’s utterly ridiculous crush.

“We need to decide on a course of action,” he says, mostly as a way of changing the subject. “Whether or not that involves Shiro going back to the surface.”

“I won’t be forced anywhere,” Shiro says firmly, “and I won’t let you be dragged through the mud on Ares’ word, any more than I will let him have control of me.”

“Shiro,” Keith murmurs, his heart feeling fit to burst. On the one hand, Shiro’s dedication makes him flush warmly; on the other, he can’t bear the idea that Shiro might be put through any sort of trouble or danger for his sake. His name is not worth that much, especially not when so much of Olympus already disdains it.

“We may not have time to do much,” Matt warns, frowning and leaning forward onto his elbows, bracing himself against the table. “If you want to stand defiant, then I’ll support you, and I know my sister will as well — she knows as well as I do that Keith would never kidnap anyone. But I doubt we’ll have time to do more than decide to hold the line; I suspect I may have only barely made it in time to warn you.”

“And what did you come to warn them of, Apollo?” calls a new voice, higher and very crisp.

“Speak of the devil,” Matt mutturs, then says more loudly, “Hello, Lady Zeus.”

Keith stands and turns, and sure enough, Allura is making her way into his gardens, walking with steady, even steps, her face carefully neutral. He sighs out a little through his nose, near-silently — though he knows better than to really think that she won’t have noticed anyway — and says carefully, “Lady Zeus.”

“Hello, Hades,” she says, but her eyes are on Shiro. “I see you have a guest.”

“Yes, I am a guest,” Shiro says immediately, before Keith has a chance to respond at all. “I’ve found Lord Hades’ hospitality to be far warmer than petty gossip on Olympus had led me to believe. He has been very kind since he rescued me from Sendak.”

“Rescued you?” Allura asks, nearing the table and stopping just behind an empty chair; she doesn’t sit, but merely rests her hands on the back of the chair, folding them neatly and glancing at Matt and Shiro, still seating, and Keith, standing to her left. “To hear him tell it, Ares never even saw you, and it’s the Underworld that you need rescuing from.”

“He would say that,” Shiro replies, his voice flat. “He has been pursuing me for weeks, trying to convince me to abandon my duties and fight as his champion, bearing his standard into the battles he ignites. He invaded my dreams, and through them he came to me in the night and attacked me while I was sleeping and unarmed. If Lord Hades hadn’t come to my aid and given me shelter here, I don’t know what would have happened.”

Allura considers this for a moment, nodding slightly at Shiro’s words; Keith keeps his mouth firmly shut, feeling that speaking up in his own defense now won’t exactly help their case. After a brief pause, Allura opens her mouth, expression thoroughly unreadable, but before she gets a chance to speak, yet another newcomer speaks up from behind the party, this one preceded by a slight shiver of unease and alarm at the back of Keith’s mind, in the part of him which feels vaguely all comings and goings in the Underworld.

“A pretty story,” Sendak says, and Shiro’s face immediately hardens; Matt pales slightly, but his mouth sets in a firm, grim line that speaks of determination. Allura, for her part, doesn’t react at all except to turn and look at the new arrival. “So pretty, in fact, that I suspect it has been planted in his head.”

“And who do you claim is planting things in my head?” Shiro growls. “The only person who has been in there lately who wishes me any harm is you.”

That, in Keith’s opinion, is a rather politic way of getting around the fact that Sendak _hasn’t_ been the only one in Shiro’s head lately who was uninvited. He feels a fresh rush of guilt, but also a certain warm flush of gratitude at the fact that Shiro seems to have forgiven him for that initial error of judgement.

“Obviously it must have been Hades,” Sendak says, stalking towards them; his eyes flick to Keith for only a minute as he speaks before settling back on Shiro, their predatory gleam only barely hidden. “His powers are not only over death and darkness; he has some control of the mind as well. I’m sure it would be no tricky thing for him to plant a thread of submission and acceptance in his captured flower.”

At this, Keith finally breaks his silence, snorting inelegantly. “‘Submissive’ is not exactly a word I would use to describe him,” he says in a perfectly flat voice. “Nor ‘flower.’”

“Nor ‘captured,’” Shiro adds. “As you well know, Sendak. You heard quite clearly, I’m sure, that he _offered_ me sanctuary here, and you must have seen that I accepted.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sendak says, then turns to Allura. “Lady Zeus, clearly his mind has been tampered with.”

“That accusation can be cleared or confirmed easily enough,” Allura replies mildly. Her eyes glitter with something sharp-edged, and Keith feels a flicker of relief, some measure of tension leaving his shoulders; he and Zeus haven’t always seen eye-to-eye in the past, but at least it seems she is not so easily taken in by Sendak’s lies. “I could call Hecate here at once, and we could have our answer. I’m sure it wouldn’t even take her a moment to identify such a spell.”

To his credit, Sendak doesn’t visibly flinch or pale or really react in any way; something does flicker in his eyes, but he mostly hides it by dipping his head to say, “By all means, then, let it be done.”

“That’s a good bluff,” Shiro says sharply, and something about his voice makes the hairs at the back of Keith’s neck stand up. The other four all turn their attention to him immediately, and besides his voice and the softest whisper of a breeze through the trees, there isn’t a single sound to be heard. Keith scarcely feels as if any of them are breathing, so deadly is Shiro’s tone. “But we can settle this quicker than that. You claim I’ve been kidnapped and duped into complacency? I can prove to you that would be no easy thing to do. Fight me, Hades, and let me prove to you once and for all that I will not bow to you.”

“I will not,” Sendak says shortly. “I think you will,” Shiro snaps, standing abruptly, his chair pushing back from the table with a screech. “My honor demands it, and Lord Hades’ honor as well. I won’t let you come and lie and spread darkness and distrust about a man who has been nothing but kind to me.”

“I will _not_ fight you,” Sendak repeats, though he takes a step toward him rather threateningly. Everyone else is frozen; Allura’s eyes are the only thing in motion, darting smoothly over Shiro and then Sendak and then back again, cataloguing everything either of them says and does. “I will not fight someone who is not in his right mind.”

“How noble,” Matt says quietly, and Shiro snorts in derisive agreement.

“There is no nobility in him,” he says. “He’s a coward, god of war or not. He talks and talks, but he knows that I would beat him in any fair contest.”

With every word, Sendak’s face grows darker, and Keith’s fingers tense on the edge of the table. He’s all but certain that Shiro is doing this intentionally, and it’s a smart tactic, all things considered — Ares is not exactly difficult to bait. Still, angering him isn’t always such a good idea, and while Keith is certain he can fulfill his promise to contain Ares’ power here in his domain if necessary, he’s not exactly eager to have to do it. It won’t be easy.

Sure enough, fast as anything Sendak snaps, “Oh, I daresay you would need a savior to swoop in for you, as you did last —”, only cutting himself off with a snap of his teeth when he realizes what he’s said, his eyes flashing and his hand going to the hilt of his sword.

“Interesting,” Shiro says triumphantly, glaring at him, and Sendak growls. But he is outnumbered, and his power is diminished in Keith’s realm, anyway. His hand remains on his weapon, but he makes no move to draw it. 

“Interesting indeed,” Allura echoes, her tone perfectly mild. She stares at Sendak for a long moment in silence, then turns her gaze to Keith; her expression softens as she says, “I think it is safe to say the accusations against you are easily dismissed, Hades. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

“It’s fine,” Keith says, as ungrudgingly as he can manage. This is, after all, a rather painless and peaceful solution; he doesn’t really have anything to complain about, besides an interrupted meal. “I understand that you needed to investigate to be certain the rumors weren’t true.”

“Yes,” she replies, then turns back to pin Sendak with a rather icy stare. “On which note, I believe we two ought to return to Olympus, to see if we can better puzzle out the situation and make any necessary judgement. I’m sure Demeter, for one, will be very interested to hear about all this.” 

Sendak looks like he has swallowed a lemon whole; his scowl is black as pitch, but he cannot go against Zeus, not when he is so clearly in the wrong and there have been so many around to witness it. He glares at each of them in turn — Allura, then Matt, then Keith, saving Shiro for last, and pinning him with an intensely foul expression, even more so than the others — and then abruptly turns and sweeps out of the garden, leaving as suddenly and dramatically as he had come.

Allura leaves with a bit more grace, inclining her head to them and saying, “I apologize for the interruption. Apollo, I trust I can count on you to spread gossip of this far and wide?” 

Matt salutes her sloppily. “I’ll see to it that everyone on Olympus has heard by the end of the day, milady.”

“Very good,” she replies, with a twinkle in her eye. “I had better be off, then, to make sure Ares doesn’t take any wrong turns on his way to Olympus.” Then she sweeps out of the garden, and the three of them are left in silence; Keith looks across at Shiro, whose expression is somewhat opaque, but certainly seems pleased.

“Well!” Matt says brightly, reaching across the table to grab a piece of fruit. “Talk about a meal with entertainment, eh?”

—

Keith makes himself relatively scarce for the rest of the day, both for Shiro’s sake, should he desire space after the stress and drama of their morning, and for his own. Matt had left after their meal was done, off to fulfill his promise to Allura by making the rounds and spreading the story of Ares’ attempted trickery, but even with just the two of them, the garden had somehow suddenly felt crowded. Besides, the duties of the Lord of the Underworld didn’t pause for anything, not even the juiciest of Olympian drama.

He finds Shiro in the evening, though; for once, the dim, slightly blue light that’s natural to the Underworld feels fitting, and Keith walks through the halls of the palace silently, not so much seeking Shiro out directly as knowing where he will probably find him. Sure enough, there he is in the back garden — not the garden where they take breakfast, but a smaller, even more private one, which most guests don’t ever see. Amazing how in just a week Shiro has utterly transcended being a guest and become something far deeper instead, as though, having met, the two of them have simply fallen into place together, into a closeness which must have been ordained by the Fates.

Shiro must hear him approach; he doesn’t say anything at first, but Keith watches the line of his shoulders tighten slightly, then release again. He has flowers woven all through his hair: little blossoms of hyacinth and laceflower and daphne, stark against the inky color of his locks, and with his white forelock braided up and out of the way with the help of carefully-woven stems. Keith stops some distance behind him, and doesn’t say anything, either. Instead, he chooses to simply look at Shiro, trying to read from the shape of his body if he has any lingering anxiety or anger or fear after the morning’s events and mostly failing.

“You know,” Shiro says finally; his voice is quiet, but seems impossibly loud in how it breaks the silence, “they say on Olympus that any who eat the foods of the Underworld will be forced to stay there.” He turns, just slightly, not facing Keith but meeting his eye at an angle, and Keith notices suddenly that Shiro had been staring up at a pomegranate tree, the largest, grandest one in the entire palace, which is the crown jewel of this garden. “Is that true? Is that why you bring your food from above?”

Slowly, Keith shakes his head. “No,” he replies softly, finding it impossible to speak in any louder tone even if he wanted to. “No, that is only a story, like so much of what they say about me and my realm on Olympus. The food grown here is simply inedible to all but the dead. It passes straight through; you could eat it and eat it and still starve.”

Shiro hums. “Too bad,” he says, and then laughs when Keith startles and blinks at him, and then continues, “I was almost hoping I could eat some, and say it was an accident. Maybe just a few pomegranate seeds — half a dozen, maybe, and spend half the year down here. They don’t need me in the fall and winter anyway; Demeter manages the harvest, and no one needs wildflowers or summer wheat when there’s snow on the ground. It would be nice to have a place like this to return to when my work was done.” He pauses, then turns to face Keith more fully, and softly adds, “It would be nice to have you to return to.”

“Shiro,” Keith says, almost blankly, but though there are a great many words swirling around his head, he cannot for all the might of Olympus come up with anything else to say.

Their eyes stay locked for a long moment, and Shiro lets his words hang in the air; he doesn’t seem disappointed, or as though he thinks he’s been rebuffed, so Keith thinks that he must at least have correctly read Keith’s shock and awe in his silence. Then Shiro turns away, back to the pomegranate tree, and says a bit wistfully, “But I need to go back soon.”

Keith feels his heart pound one, two, three times in his chest, distinct, and so fiercely he wonders that Shiro doesn’t hear it, before he says, “Of course.”

“I have duties to attend to,” Shiro tells the tree, tells Keith. “It’s near the end of spring, but my work isn’t yet done. Demeter won’t be pleased with my having been gone _this_ long, let alone longer.”

“Of course,” Keith repeats, but it isn’t lost on him that Shiro’s tone is wistful, regretful. He hesitates only a moment before saying, his own voice surprising him with its softness, “You are always welcome here, you know.”

Shiro blinks at him, though Keith thinks surely this can’t come as any surprise to him; his cheeks darken slightly, pinking in the most adorable way, and Keith knows that bearing for him to leave, no matter how temporarily, will be harder than it has any right to be. 

Quietness stretches between them, and Keith has never been one to be uncomfortable with silence, but suddenly he realize that this silence, this particular stillness, he cannot bear, not when he hasn’t been entirely truthful. Oh, he hasn’t lied, and this time he certainly hasn’t gone behind Shiro’s back or skulked in any shadows at all, but he also hasn’t expressed the fullest extent of the truth.

So he looks Shiro dead in the eyes, smiles at him, lopsided, and admits as plainly as he can manage, “More than that, I’d like to see you again as soon as possible. I can hardly stand for you to go, though I understand that you need to.”

“I’ll come back,” Shiro says immediately, taking a step toward him, his eyes never wavering from Keith’s. “Tomorrow, and the next day, and every day. I’ll come back as often as you’ll let me.” He takes another step forward and says, “If you can hardly stand to let me go, then I can hardly stand to leave you.”

“Shiro,” Keith murmurs, and takes his own step forward, until there is very little between them but breath and shadow. _Stay_ , he almost, almost says. _If the pomegranates won’t keep you, then I will._ But he knows better; no matter how lovely Shiro himself is, and no matter how lovely that little meadow where Keith had first seen him had been, he wouldn’t want to stay aboveground with him and neglect his duties any more than he’s sure Shiro would want to abandon his own fields and flowers. All the same, Keith has never wanted anyone this badly; he’s no longer sure if he’s ever truly wanted anyone at all, because if this is what wanting really feels like, then everything else he’s ever felt pales hilariously in comparison.

All Shiro has to do to kiss him is to lean down and in; he tastes like pomegranate after all, and Keith wonders suddenly at the idea that he’d leapt first, and only then thought to ask. But more important than wondering about things like that is the slow and soft and certain press of their lips together, and the little sigh that Shiro releases into his mouth, their bodies pressing full-length against each other for one glorious moment.

Keith groans into Shiro’s mouth, and that is when Shiro pulls back, though he looks longing and entirely reluctant. They stand there, both frozen, for a long moment, Keith’s breath still in Shiro’s lungs and Shiro’s in Keith’s, and then Shiro ducks in very quickly to kiss Keith again, this time a dry caress against his forehead. 

“Soon,” he murmurs, and Keith nods, knowing exactly what it means.

“Should I expect you for dinner tomorrow?” he asks, just a hint of dry humor in his tone, and Shiro laughs a little as he nods.

“Save me a seat,” he says, and then just like that he’s gone, disappearing all at once in a swirl of flower petals and the smell of torch-smoke. Keith stands there staring at the place he left for quite some time, and then at length he turns to go, a small smile playing on his lips. 


End file.
